


Not a practical deterrent

by Chiomi



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Frottage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-22 02:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12471872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiomi/pseuds/Chiomi
Summary: A remix!Alternate ending to Dr. Strangelove.





	Not a practical deterrent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clairelutra (exosolarmoon)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exosolarmoon/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Dr. Strangelove, or How Ladybug Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Lap Pillow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5358965) by [a_miiraculer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_miiraculer/pseuds/a_miiraculer), [clairelutra (exosolarmoon)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exosolarmoon/pseuds/clairelutra). 



> Title comes from Dr. Strangelove.

She sighed. "It's okay, kitty. You were asleep.” Winding up to swing again, she mumbled, “That’s the problem.”

There’s a sort of stillness that draws even more attention than movement, a shocked and coiled tension that precludes even breathing. Oh no. She’d said that last part out loud, and he’d heard her. Her eyes tracked slowly over to him even as she kept her flaming face turned straight ahead. He was just staring at her, mouth hanging slightly open.

Her yoyo unwound from its anchor, reacting to a decision she didn’t know she’d made until it slapped back into her palm. She swallowed hard. She could go, still. Pretend she hadn’t said anything. Everything could go back to normal.

But there was hope blooming in Chat’s eyes, and her thighs were still too warm. “I - kitty,” she said helplessly. She didn’t want them to get too distracted in each other to protect Paris: that was the last thing she wanted. But he was one of the most important people in her life.

His hand twitched towards her - just a small thing, just an inch or two, reaching for her. It stilled, and then he returned his hand to his side.

She wanted to run almost as much as she wanted to stay. But it was only almost. Some half-formed word caught in her throat, coming out as a soft inchoate noise. Chat’s face broke open in response, something unbearably tender and vulnerable shining forth from behind the mask. He stayed where he was, though, waiting to take his cue from her like he always did, trusting her with both their fates. What she felt for him in that moment, the concatenation of trust and affection and raw lust, wrapped around her heart and threatened to shatter it.

“My lady,” he said, a complete statement. His fingers flexed at his sides, still fighting himself not to reach for her. The tension of it was a line all through his shoulders, lean muscle thrumming taut underneath the suit. His hair was still disarranged even from its usual messiness, evidence of her fingers running through it.

In a visceral way, she liked signs of having had her hands on him. Of him being hers. God, she wanted him. The words that would change everything were clamoring to come out, the weight of them stopping her tongue and clogging her throat. It felt like an apocalypse looming. It had the potential to shatter her world. But their partnership was built on trust. She had to trust him. And she did, oh, she did. Very deliberately, she took a step towards him. She swallowed hard. “Will you kiss me?”

His face lit up like he’d taken in all of the lights in Paris. “Yes,” he breathed, and closed the distance between them. He took one of her hands in his, but the other went to the back of her head to draw her close. The first brush of lips was soft and shaky, and it felt like the breaking of a dam. Their lips parted as both of them gasped, then came together again. He kissed her frantically, his lips pressed tight to hers so that she could feel the pressure of his teeth.

She plastered herself against him, breasts flattening against his chest. He met her, a long firm line of heat. With her free hand, she clutched at him, wrapping her arm around his waist. She needed the anchor, something to keep her steady, because kissing Chat Noir was more intense than she’d ever expected. She parted her mouth on his and slipped her tongue out to tease against the seam of his lips.

His lips parted with a swift gasp she felt more than heard, and he slid his tongue against hers. She pressed herself closer, wishing she could crawl inside his skin. Her fingers flexed in his, and she realized she could be touching more of him instead. She disentangled her hand from his and slid it up his arm. He startled, almost breaking their kiss, then clutched at her. His hand slid over her side and her waist, and she arched closer to him. There was no closer to go, really, but she slid against him and against the erection pressing low on her stomach.

He broke from their kiss, panting, and pressed his forehead to hers. “Ladybug.”

“Chat,” she replied, slightly dazed.

He tilted his face down, running his nose alongside hers like the affectionate cat he was.

She raised her arms to wrap around his neck and tangled her fingers in the hair at his nape. It was steadying, grounding, and she needed it, because it felt as if she was in freefall, stomach swooping with nerves and joy and anticipation. Chat steadied her, like the sure and certain knowledge that she could make a swing. “Chat,” she said again, and wished she could articulate what she wanted.

He nodded as if she’d said something he agreed with, then kissed her again, just a brief brush of lips. “You don’t know how much I want you.”

A shaky laugh escaped her, and she buried her face in the side of his neck momentarily. She pulled back and smiled at him, as dazzling as she knew how. “Maybe somewhere near as much as I want you?”

Their next kiss was ravenous, spit and teeth and tongue. Both their hands wandered, skin separated by two layers of suits. His hands gravitated to her hips. He traced along the flare of them, and it stoked the heat in her. Ladybug nearly shivered with the intensity of her desire. “Chat - I need -”

“What, my Lady?” He murmured the question into the hollow right below her ear before putting his mouth to better use, kissing along the side of her neck.

It made it very hard to think in complete sentences. More, it made her knees weak. “Oh, God. We should - we should sit down.”

They sank to the roof, hands never leaving each other, and they leaned in to kiss each other at the same time. They kissed and kissed until Ladybug found herself crawling into his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, pressed into the tile of the roof. She wanted almost desperately to be skin to skin, but it was an impossibility on too many levels to count. Instead she kissed him and pressed the softest part of her against where he was hard.

He pulsed against her, and some primal instinctive part of her wanted to twitch her hips down to feel him move against her - to feel him  _ in _ her. But their suits were in the way, and Ladybug would never forgive herself for revealing her identity as part of a selfish indulgence. But still, at least, she could feel his warmth against her front and her inner thighs and feel the slide of his gloved hands over her sides.

Eventually she needed air, and her mouth broke from his, though she couldn’t seem to quite halt the infinitesimal stuttering of her hips.

“My Lady,” said Chat, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel. He brought his hands to her waist, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Is this working for you? Are you feeling good?”

“Oh, mon cher chaton,” she said, the endearment rolling off her tongue. “I wish - God, I wish you could touch me.”

His cat’s pupils were round and huge, and his eyes on hers looked almost fevered. “Where,” he asked, voice cracking.

She smiled at him, slow and wicked as she knew how, because they both knew it was rhetorical. She rolled her hips, grinding against his length deliberately. He shuddered underneath her, so she did it again, her eyes fluttering closed so she could better focus on sensation.

Chat kissed her again, mouth sloppy and wet and desperate. His hands flexed desperately on her waist, then slid to her thighs and snugged her even closer to him.

She’d never meant for it to get this far, but she’d never meant to do anything about these feelings, so hesitation now seemed pointless. Ladybug abandoned herself to sensation, rubbing against him where it felt the best, grinding until the night around them shattered into points of light. Chat grew frantic, then, using his hands on her thighs and hips and waist to keep her close until he pulsed against her again, a rush she could feel even through the suits.

They rested their foreheads together, both breathing raggedly. “I love you,” Ladybug said.

“I love you, too.” Obviously reluctant, Chat drew his hands from her and put them behind him, leaning back, putting space between them for cold night air and sanity.

“So I guess that was enough touch for both of us,” she said inanely.

Chat let out a laugh, but he was blushing. “Yeah, definitely. Though I need to go home and clean up.”

Ladybug’s own cheeks heated. “Right. I - see you tomorrow night?”

“Nothing could keep me away.”


End file.
